


after you comes the flood

by shiraishin



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Produce X 101 (TV), UNIQ (Band), X1 (Band)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, all aboard the angst train! choo choo, kind of, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiraishin/pseuds/shiraishin
Summary: It’s like this, Seungyoun wants to say and point at the marks on his collar bones and thighs, left by someone who isn’t Hangyul.It’s like you’re the eye of the storm and I’m a column of swirling wind.





	1. separation

**Author's Note:**

> um. this fic is pretty self-indulgent to be honest, i just really needed to let my uniq feels out. lmao

“Sometimes, it’s like —” Seungyoun says before everything starts to blur. It feels like there’s blood clogging his throat and the metallic taste of iron is the only thing left. Hangyul stares at him patiently, face painted blue and yellow by the street lights filling the room through the kitchen window.

 _It’s like this_ , Seungyoun wants to say and point at the marks on his collar bones and thighs, left by someone who isn’t Hangyul. _It’s like you’re the eye of the storm and I’m a column of swirling wind._

Instead, he lets the silence settle in and glances at Hangyul, waiting for him to do something Seungyoun isn’t brave enough to even think of.

Hangyul does. He leans in and kisses the corner of Seungyoun’s mouth, moving back instantly as if he was scared of getting burned.

And then, Seungyoun wakes up.

It rains on the day Hangyul moves into the hasukjib Seungyoun’s renting a room in.

Seungyoun rememberers it clearly; the memory of Hangyul walking in and out the door with bags and boxes, hair wet from rain, oversized t-shirt sticking to his body, is still fresh in Seungyoun’s mind. That morning, he added way too much sugar to his coffee, but still sipped on it while watching his new flatmate shuffle around the common area.

“It just won’t stop raining, huh?”

“Yeah,” Hangyul replies, brushing wet strands of hair off his forehead. Seungyoun’s stare lingers for a little too long. “Out of all days possible, today had to be the rainiest one.”

Seungyoun responds with a smile and resumes scrolling through his Instagram feed. He’d offer to help with carrying the boxes, but it hasn't even been an hour since they met, so he fears coming off as nosy. He decides to make one more cup of coffee instead and leaves it on the table for Hangyul to drink before retreating to his room.

It feels like days ago, but in truth, it’s been more than half a year of sharing meals, spending evenings in each other’s rooms and taking the subway to Hongdae together when things are too rough. Seungyoun can’t pinpoint the moment he started to consider Hangyul someone he can pour his heart to, but something in Hangyul’s kind smile makes everything about him feel familiar.

Seungyoun thinks he should stop trying to make a home out of people.

(The sound of raindrops splattering against the window seems to be something he associates with Hangyul, now, because every time heavy cloud start to roll in, he looks for comfort in the softness of Hangyul’s voice.)

“How’s your new project going?” Kookheon asks, _Bulgogi MVP_ in his hand. (Seungyoun is fully aware that they should stop eating greasy food from Isaac Toast down the street for breakfast, but the ahjumma working there seems to adore them and always adds extra meat every time they order, so he can’t bring himself to break her heart.)

He knows there’s no malice behind Kookheon's words, the question an expression of worry rather than an intention to unnerve him. Still, it makes Seungyoun feel annoyance rise in his chest, more at himself than his friend.

“Awful,” is what he would say if he wanted to be honest. He hates having deadlines looming over him, and there’s a song for one of the upcoming rookie groups which he's supposed to submit until the end of the week, but he hasn’t been to the studio in days. Nathan’s probably ready to lock him out and throw Seungyoun’s key into the Han River for ignoring his calls and messages for so long.

“Good! We’re almost done.” In other words, he hopes Nathan is, or else they’re in for big trouble. But Nathan has always been the more collected one, more professional, even though it pains Seungyoun to admit it.

Kookheon nods and before he takes a bite of his toast, says, “I can’t wait to hear it.”

Seungyoun hums and focuses on his food, the conversation clearly over.

There’s a memory of Hangyul stepping stones to cross the Cheonggye stream that’s always present in Seungyoun’s mind, like a post-it he can’t bear to get rid of.

It was a summer evening, one of many they spent together last year. They were supposed to spend it watching a movie Hangyul had insisted on checking out, but eventually decided to take the subway to Gwanghwamun station and stroll around with cups of iced coffee in their hands.

Seungyoun isn’t sure whether it was the humid air or Hangyul’s victorious smile as he waved at him from the other side of the stream that made it hard to breathe that day. He lets himself believe it was the former, even though it’s Hangyul’s voice, telling Seungyoun to join him, that keeps ringing in his head like an echo.

“Jinhyuk hyung wants to go out for _chimaek_ tonight,” Hangyul says when he notices sleepy Seungyoun enter their shared kitchen. There are two cups of instant coffee in front of him, along with two rolls of kimbap from the convenience store, and Seungyoun gives him a tired smile of gratitude for the thought. “I told him you might be busy —”

“I’ve got things to get done by tonight, or else I might end up a dead man,” Seungyoun responds, bringing the cup to his lips. A mistake, he realizes, when the hot drink burns his tongue. He heaves out a sigh. “If you don't hear from me till midnight, report Nathan to the police.”

Hangyul lets out a laugh, something Seungyoun always longs to hear, and glances away deep in thought. It’s quiet, the sound of music coming from Kookheon’s room the only thing breaking the silence. Seungyoun thinks they’re the only ones in, judging by the lack of noise from other rooms and the bathroom.

“I’ve got a shift starting soon,” Hangyul says after a few minutes of silence, then stands up and grabs his cup to wash it in the sink. “See you tomorrow, hyung. Don’t overwork yourself, yeah?”

Seungyoun nods, again, and doesn’t say anything, because everything he can think of saying sounds like a half-truth, and Hangyul is the only person he can’t imagine lying to.

Yibo greets him in Chinese when he picks up. It’s surprising, how comforting the harsh sounds of Mandarin still are to Seungyoun, even though it’s been months since he last visited Luoyang.

“I miss you,” is the first thing Seungyoun says, like it’s a habit he can’t help but clutch onto. He’s not sure whether he wants it to be gone. Then: “How are things?”

“Good, good,” Yibo replies, voice quiet. Seungyoun can imagine him nodding like he always does when he’s mulling over what he means to say and what he means leave unsaid. “I spent ten hours on the set today. Might as well fall asleep listening to your voice.”

His words sound sweet, laced with affection and years of familiarity; or that’s what Seungyoun wants them to be when he realizes Yibo didn’t even say _I miss you_ back. But maybe he’s adding color to something that’s black and white, looking for excuses when there are none.

“I can’t believe my boyfriend’s finally making it big in China,” he tries to joke.

Yibo laughs, but it sounds as hollow as Seungyoun feels.

The line goes silent when someone calls Yibo's name, voice chirpy and so similar to what Seungyoun used to sound like when they started dating. Seungyoun can’t make out much, his Chinese vocabulary long forgotten and stacked underneath layers of more relevant things, but it seems to be some kind of invitation. Yibo’s response is quick, but hushed. He’s probably covering his phone with his hand, Seungyoun assumes.

“I’ve got to hang up,” he hears Yibo say after a few seconds of silence, just like Seungyoun imagined him doing while listening to the whole conversation. He can predict everything Yibo does just like he can predict the weather by looking at the clouds. “Talk to you soon, yeah?”

Once the call is over, Seungyoun stares at his phone for what seems like hours. He realizes it’s the only source of light in his room, and he’s been sitting in a dark room waiting for Yibo to call again, say something that would fill the hole in Seungyoun’s chest.

In the end, his phone stays silent. Seungyoun scrolls through his recent calls and chooses the first name on the list that isn’t Yibo’s.

Friday night means a lot of people gathered around the Han River, but he has no trouble finding his way from the Yeouido station to their usual hangout spot. He stops by a convenience store on his way, buys some snacks and a few beers that he knows will probably end up untouched.

“Look who decided to show up,” Seungwoo sing-songs when he notices him walking up to their group of friends. His voice is already high pitched, words on the brink of sounding slurred. Despite the darkness, Seungyoun can see how pink and flushed his cheeks are, tens of empty soju bottles scattered around serving as evidence. (Although it might as well be an effect of Yohan’s presence.)

Seungyoun laughs sincerely for the first time that day and pats him on the back.

“Hyung, I saved a spot for you,” Hangyul says then, voice more whiny than usual, waving with his right hand to gain Seungyoun’s attention and using the other to pat the grass next to him. Seungyoun nods and takes his offer, even though he’d probably find a way to sit next to Hangyul anyway.

The conversation slowly picks up again; apparently, one of the teachers at the academy that most of his friends attend is getting married next month, and she invited some of her students to the reception. Seungyoun tunes it out, focusing on the feeling of warmth radiating from Hangyul and the sweet scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol.

“Have you finished that song already?” Hangyul asks in his naivety when he notices Seungyoun’s stare. It comes out as a whisper, mostly because the question is directed at him only, but Seungyoun’s thoughts spin nevertheless. He nods in response; his mouth feels dry.

Hangyul hums. “I’m glad you managed to come today, hyung.”

Someone laughs, but Seungyoun doesn’t open his eyes to check who it was. Everything goes quiet, until the only things left are the sound of Hangyul breathing in, breathing out, and the scent of the water.

Later, when everything around them is swallowed in darkness and they’re struggling to enter their hasukjib without making a sound, Hangyul pins his gaze on Seungyoun and says, “I wanted to kiss you tonight, hyung.”

Seungyoun flinches, limbs numb even though he’s the sober one between the two of them. He wonders where did the bitter taste in his mouth come from, and the feeling only intensifies when he notices Hangyul looking at him with expectation in his eyes, waiting for something Seungyoun isn’t able to give.

Seconds melt into minutes and shyness fades from Hangyul’s face, replaced by something that could only be described as regret. Seungyoun bites his bottom lip hard enough to bleed. (He doesn’t dare to check if he’s actually bleeding.)

“You won’t remember anything in the morning, Hangyul-ah,” he says once he finally snaps out of it, gently grabbing Hangyul’s shoulder to guide him to his room. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Hangyul melts under his touch and drops the subject, following Seungyoun like a beaten animal.

Hearing Hangyul talk about Yibo feels surreal, like they exist in parallel universes and Seungyoun’s stuck in limbo, trying to balance the thin line between the past and the future.

One evening, as they lie slouched on Seungyoun’s bed watching reruns of some survival show that’s been quite popular recently, Jinhyuk suddenly asks, “How's your Chinese boyfriend?”

The question doesn’t come as a surprise. Jinhyuk has always been a little too curious for his own good; Seungyoun is never sure whether to label it as a flaw in his character or a habit he’s picked up over the years of being friends with Wooseok.

The only things that come to Seungyoun’s his mind are watered down truths and words that have been rotting in his mouth for a while now. So he inhales, closes his eyes as if he was bracing himself for a hit and admits, “Not that good.”

Jinhyuk’s tears his gaze away from the screen and stares at him for what feels like seconds, minutes, and then hours.

“It’s a private matter between Seungyoun hyung and Yibo hyung,” Hangyul interrupts. “We shouldn't interfere.”

Most of his friends met Yibo at least once in the past, but it’s been a while since Seungyoun last heard any of them mention his name. It's like they're trying to walk on eggshells around him, even though Seungyoun has been doing his best to hide his distress behind fake smiles.

He tries his best to ignore Jinhyuk's worried expression, but the sight doesn’t fade from his mind even when he’s all alone, struggling to fall asleep.

Over the following weeks, Seungyoun has many realizations.

Like the fact that Hangyul’s nose scrunches up when he’s laughing at a particularly amusing joke (every joke seems to be extremely amusing to Hangyul), or that too much gochujang in his food makes him sneeze and cough. He’s noticed that Hangyul’s favorite drink is sweet potato latte from a cafe he often studies at, and that his mother often calls him to say good morning (which he claims to hate, because she tends to wake him up on his days off, but it’s something he appreciates, deep down).

Seungyoun realizes that despite being quite deep, Hangyul’s voice is actually soft, especially when he talks about people and things he cherishes. There are lots of them, just like there’s lots of love in Hangyul’s heart, and Seungyoun finds himself wanting to be one of the people Hangyul would hold dear.

Yibo kisses him as soon as he enters Seungyoun’s small room, mostly because there aren’t many words left to be said. The language barrier has never been a problem for the two of them, always switching back and forth between Korean and Chinese, but suddenly it’s like they both forgot how to talk to each other without struggling to find the right words. Seungyoun decides that no dictionary could help him describe what he feels when he notices the heartbreak in Yibo’s eyes.

He knows that the taste of someone else on Yibo’s skin is just an illusion, his mind trying to play tricks on him, but it feels like poison as he moves his lips down Yibo’s stomach. He wonders if Hangyul can hear the hushed whispers and moan they both try so hard to swallow down. Everything seems so loud even though his room is engulfed in silence as Yibo hides his face in the crook of Seungyoun’s neck and comes onto his stomach with a groan.

When they’re lying in Seungyoun’s single bed afterwards, bodies coated with a sheer layer of sweat and limbs still tingling, Yibo says, voice calm and quiet, “I think we should end this.”

The ground doesn’t shake and the rivers don’t stop flowing into the sea. Time doesn’t stop either, Seungyoun realizes, looking at the expensive watch on Yibo’s wrist.

“It’s been a long time coming, huh?”

If he was feeling brave, he’d probably laugh at Yibo's attempts to maintain his calm and collected persona, because out of all people, it’s Seungyoun who’s aware of it being an obvious lie. But being around Yibo has always made him feel like a fool rather than a hero, so he simply goes quiet and waits for Yibo to take control of the situation.

“I’m gonna stay at a hotel,” Yibo declares after a few beats of silence and gets up to gather his things, picking up the clothes scattered on the floor. “I was planning to go back to China tomorrow, anyway.”

Seungyoun has nothing to say to that, so he just stands there, watching someone he used to consider the love of his life quietly close the door behind him.

To Seungyoun, falling out of love isn’t about sleepless nights and writing heartbreaking love songs. It’s picking up everything Yibo left behind in Seoul, carefully putting it in a box and sending it to an address in Luoyang he still remembers by heart.

Three years is a long time. Long enough for two lives to intertwine like vines of ivy on the wall of an abandoned building. Seungyoun wishes that touching the soft fabric of Yibo’s oversized hoodie didn’t make him think of that one time they kissed on Gwangalli Beach while waiting for the sun to set. He seals the box carefully and throws out his Mandarin textbooks, ignoring the sound of Yibo laughing at his pronunciation mistakes that rings in his head when he reaches his hand out to grab them.

Five months ago, Seungyoun wanted to break his bones and rearrange them into something Yibo would love again. Now, all he wants to be for Yibo is a memory of eyes filled with fondness and warmth strong enough to challenge the sun. 

(Five months ago, the bud in his chest was still barely anything, but recently it’s been growing more and more with every smile Hangyul offers to give him. Seungyoun wonders how long it’ll take to bloom.)

“We broke up.”

Surprisingly, Yohan is the first person he spills his guts to. Seungyoun isn’t sure whether it’s the alcohol in his veins that makes him bring it into the open, or the younger’s smile as he nods enthusiastically at everything leaving Seungyoun's mouth.

Seungyoun admitting it out loud makes Yohan bite his lips in what looks like hesitation. Seungyoun doesn’t blame him, but it’s enough for doubt to settle in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought that up; maybe he shouldn’t let Yibo go, after all.

Except a few seconds later Yohan breathes out a sigh and his expression changes into one of relief. “Hyung! Finally,” he says as if it was a reason to celebrate rather than lose sleep over.

Seungyoun stares at his half-empty bottle of soju in confusion, unable to raise his head.

“No offense to Yibo hyung,” Yohan continues, “But I’ve been waiting for you two to break up, actually. It’s like I couldn’t recognize you anymore, hyung.”

Yohan’s here, waiting for him to say something, but to Seungyoun he might be as well standing on the shore, reaching out to pull him out of the deep sea.

That’s how it feels; like a breath of air after months of trying not to let water enter his lungs, struggling to stay afloat. He’s never been the one to use big words to describe things that are simple in essence, but hearing Yohan say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world feels like a revelation.

“Oh my god,” Seungyoun says, finally, more to himself than Yohan. “Did I ever tell you that you’re the smartest dongsaeng I know?”

Yohan smiles; it’s his typical smile, gums showing, the expression on his face a little shy. “Not that I remember, but who am I to refuse a compliment?”

They spend the rest of the evening discussing Seungwoo, because Yohan’s heart is bigger than what he can handle, and every emotion he feels threatens to spill out. Seungyoun’s surprised Seungwoo still hasn’t caught up on Yohan’s feelings for him, but he’s not the type to pry, so the only thing he offers is a word of advice and an ear to listen to him gush over his crush. He’d probably feel a pang of jealousy if it wasn’t for the fact that he simply wants his friends to find a way to be happy.

When their glasses are empty and Seungyoun is done paying the bill, Yohan hugs him awkwardly and says, “Welcome back.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, Seungyoun has no trouble falling asleep.


	2. liminality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungyoun used to dream about his hands being covered in blood, but now it’s just melted gold, hot enough to burn his palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loosely inspired by "if i left you a voicemail this would be it" by shinji moon <3

Seungyoun likes to think that he’s fairly good with words.

Ever since he was a child, innocent and way more curious than his small body could take, he’s had trouble speaking his pain out loud, even if it was something as insignificant as a scraped knee. His mother would often ask for reasons behind his crying and he’d just bite the inside of his cheeks, shaking his head like it could make her believe that nothing was wrong. 

Then, on his twelfth birthday, his grandmother gave him a notebook similar to the one his grandfather owned. Its cover was wooden and a little too heavy in his hands, but soon, he got used to filling the pages with ink to put everything that made his heart swollen and painful to touch into words. 

But this time, it’s different; this time there’s a big gaping hole in his heart, and he can’t find a name for it. 

It reminds him of trying to tame an animal, as if finding a suitable name could make it somehow obey him. (But in truth, his heart has always been and always will be wild, always asking for more blood, always doing what it wants, trying to get out of the cage he keeps it in.)

The initial feeling of relief doesn’t last as long as he would like it to. He realizes he shouldn’t have convinced himself that getting rid of everything Yibo left behind in his room would be enough; Seoul is a mosaic of streets and buildings, after all, big enough to still have the traces of them together, even though he has tried his best to get rid of everything.

He has always tried to follow a logical line of thought, but recently ghosts have started following him around and it makes him believe that maybe reality isn’t as plain as it seems. 

Deep down he knows it’s just his own imagination being a cruel beast, trying to sink its teeth into his flesh, and it certainly feels like he’s bleeding out when everyone he passes on the street looks like someone he longs to forget. He starts seeing Yibo everywhere and compulsively checks his WeChat stories every time it happens, only to realize that Yibo is still in Shanghai, enjoying his life while Seungyoun’s the one left behind.

He starts sleeping on the old, worn-out couch in the studio that he and Nathan share. Every evening, he leaves the hasukjib without a word, biting his tongue to stop himself from finding excuses every time either Kookheon or Hangyul notice him going out.

Nathan doesn’t say anything when he finds him there one night, trying to fall asleep with lights turned on. He simply greets him, the way he always does, and asks, “Can’t sleep?”

He knows Nathan’s trying to act like nothing happened; years of friendship are enough to notice someone putting up an act. Sungjoo is probably the one who texted both him and Jimin in advance to tell them about Yibo, because Sungjoo is like that; always taking care of things before Seungyoun can even bring himself to do it. He makes a mental note to call him later and thank for the thought. (Sungjoo, of course, will pretend not to know what Seungyoun means.)

It’s quiet at first, the hum of the computer the only thing filling the room; but then Nathan leaves for a few minutes and comes back carrying a few cans of Hite beer. Not enough to get drunk, but just the right amount to make Seungyoun talk. He thinks he should probably stop relying on alcohol to make words come to him more easily. 

“I’m sorry,” Nathan says finally, as he stares at him from where he’s sitting. “You should’ve told me before.”

“Don’t be,” Seungyoun replies, eyes trained on the ceiling. It reminds him of the way they depict therapeutic sessions in American movies. “I’m over it.”

Nathan snickers in response. Seungyoun can hear the hiss of a beer can being opened.

“No, really,” he says after a few moments of thought, defeated. “Besides, I think he’s in love with someone else.”

Yibo is not someone who would cheat, and Seungyoun knows that; knows that having his heart broken doesn’t give him the right to see a monster in someone who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Tell me, when’s the last time you saw him?”

Nathan mulls over the answer, squinting his eyes. He takes a sip of his beer. Then says: “Last summer? He came to pick you up.”

“So, last year.”

Nathan nods. The conflicted look on his face is enough to tell Seungyoun that his point got across.

It’s a Friday evening when Seungyoun decides he misses the warmth of his own bed, even though he still hasn’t washed the sheets and the scent he wants to forget is probably still there, lingering. 

To his surprise, he’s not the only one in. He finds Hangyul sitting at the kitchen table, the room illuminated by nothing but street lights. From what Seungyoun can see, he’s holding a roll of blue Kinesio tape, staring at it as if it was his first time using it.

“You got hurt?” Seungyoun asks, taking off his shoes and putting one hand on the wall to steady himself. 

“Ah, no,” Hangyul says in response, suddenly raising his head, visibly surprised by the sight of Seungyoun. He’s shocked enough to let the tape fall onto the floor. It feels like weeks passed since they had last seen each other, and Seungyoun is filled with guilt for making Hangyul feel like this. “It’s... Uh, an old injury, you could say.”

“Let me help, then.”

Hangyul nods in response, caution written all over his face as Seungyoun approaches him.

“It’s the ankle that’s causing you trouble, right?” Seungyoun asks and presses his fingers there, just to check where exactly it hurts. Hangyul doesn’t say anything, just lets out a hiss of pain and closes his eyes.

Here’s the thing: Seungyoun might be daring when it comes to things he wants in life, but he doesn’t know how to approach people he might have feelings for without blushing like a peony in full bloom. 

So it comes as a surprise even to him when he starts massaging Hangyul’s ankle gently without being asked, and, after a while, lets his hand wander to the thigh. The softness of the skin underneath his fingers reminds Seungyoun of ripe peach, and it makes him want to press into it, just to make sure. It’s a sudden rush of blood to his head that finally makes him decide to do it. When gets a sigh in response, he swears he can feel Hangyul’s muscles tensing underneath his touch. He spreads his legs a little, and Seungyoun can only think of the fact that he could kiss him if we wanted and dared to, could sit in his lap or grab Hangyul’s neck to make him lean down and let their lips touch, and ―

“Uh, hyung,” Hangyul says, which makes Seungyoun snap out of it, and shifts in his seat. He sounds different from usual, like there’s a lump in his throat blocking his voice. “The tape.”

“Oh,” Seungyoun’s stare wanders from his hands on Hangyul’s thigh to the roll of tape on the floor next to him. “Right.” 

Hangyul thanks him once Seungyoun’s done, and they don’t mention it ever again.

Since then, he’s stopped sleeping at the studio and tries to spend more time at home. He misses being on the receiving end of Hangyul’s smiles, even though the thought hasn’t occurred to him until recently.

One morning, Hangyul sticks a note saying _I’ve missed you, hyung_ on the handle of Seungyoun’s door. It falls off when he opens the door, and he picks it up carefully, storing it away in a drawer beside his bed.

Sometime in March, his phone breaks down. It’s an old thing, something he bought after receiving his first royalties. Many things have happened since then, and he could probably afford to buy a new one without straining his budget; so he does, changing his number as well.

The old one ends up in a service center, because, well. Seungyoun has always had a hard time letting go of things, even material ones. Maybe someday it would be useful again.

Seoul is never quiet, but Seungyoun’s thoughts aren’t either.

He often finds himself wandering the streets of Hongdae these days. It’s one of those places that are more crowded at night than they are during the daytime, but he has no trouble navigating through groups of people gathered to watch someone dance or sing. Seungyoun remembers the outline of Hongdae alleys similar to the way he remembers the words to one of the nursery songs he learned as a child, so it feels like a habit. 

During his teenage years, he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. Everything he did included someone else; he’d always insist on eating dinner with his parents late in the evening when they came home from work instead of eating by himself, and refused to walk to school on his own by convincing Sungjoo to go with him, even though they attended different schools.

But when he walks alone, with strangers as his only companions, he decides there’s something comforting in not having to use his words and being able to save them for later.

3:12am, You have [1] new voicemail.

_I’m sorry for calling you so late. But, you know…. Wenhan ge took me to a Korean restaurant today, the one close to my apartment. Remember? We went there often and you always ordered black bean noodles. I just wanted to tell you that their food is still as good as it was back then. So if you ever come to Shanghai again, stop by. The owners will be very happy, I think. They recognized me and asked me about you. Apparently, you reminded them of their son who’s serving in the military. I didn’t know what to tell them. Anyway, I hope you’re doing well._

April is one of Seoul’s least rainy months, but it’s the sound of rain against the window that serves as background noise as Seungyoun shuffles around the kitchen, making fried rice for breakfast. Hangyul’s sitting at the table, reading something on his phone, waiting for Seungyoun to be done with cooking.

“It smells so good, hyung,” he whines at some point, and Seungyoun knows that if he decided to turn around, he’d see a pout on Hangyul’s face. For someone who pretends to be tough and collected, Hangyul sure has a lot of cuteness in him when he’s around Seungyoun. 

“Has no one ever told you not to interrupt a master at work?” 

Hangyul sighs in response. It’s meant to sound annoyed, but Seungyoun just finds it endearing.

“Should we stay in today?” Hangyul asks after few minutes of silence, longingly looking out the window covered in raindrops.

It’s a Sunday morning, which means they both have a day off. The day before, Hangyul brought some pastries and snacks from the cafe he works at to pay the rent, so they don’t even have to leave the house to buy more food. Seungyoun can already feel himself melting at the thought of spending the whole day wrapped in his blanket.

He reaches for a jar of gochugaru and hums. “If that’s okay with you?”

Hangyul’s face breaks into a smile as he nods. Seungyoun misses the feeling of being happy about the smallest things.

They settle on watching some old rom-com Seungyoun remembers his mother watching once. He never took Hangyul to be the type to like these kinds of movies, but Hangyul has managed to surprise him every day since they met, so maybe Seungyoun’s the one that sucks at observing people.

“How could Cheolsoo’s wife cheat on him?” Hangyul sighs. “How can you cheat on Lee Sungjae? He’s like, you know....” he waves his hands, as if it was enough to explain. Seungyoun laughs at his attempts and reaches out to grab his can of strawberry soda.

“You think he’s handsome?” 

“Well, maybe not handsome,” Hangyul stops midway through his sentence to gather his thoughts, visibly flustered. Seungyoun wants to kiss embarrassment off. “He’s got.. something. And he’s a good actor.”

“Um, whether you get cheated on or not doesn’t depend on looks or talent,” Seungyoun takes a sip of soda to shut himself up when he realizes his words might have come out rough even though he didn’t mean them to. “Besides, he’s just playing the role.”

“I know, hyung. Sorry.”

Seungyoun’s sorry, too. He’s sorry for a lot of things; not being what Hangyul wants, being stuck inside his head for too long, for letting his thoughts take over his life.

“Don’t be,” he says in the end, because these things aren’t meant to be said out loud.

Hangyul has this habit of walking around the kitchen and their shared area shirtless, and it’s driving Seungyoun insane.

It’s not something he can mention or call out, because Hangyul has every right to do whatever he wants; it’s his home, after all, something he has to share with three other twenty-somethings, but still a home. Besides, Seungyoun is far from limiting someone’s freedom, because he wouldn’t anyone to put restrictions on him, either.

But it doesn’t change the fact that every time it happens, he has to stop his eyes from wandering, staring, taking the sight in. Hangyul seems to be oblivious to Seungyoun’s attention, or maybe he’s that good at pretending not to notice.

Seungyoun wants to kick himself in the head.

11:23 pm, You have [1] new voicemail.

_You know, I thought of that one time we went to Jeju and spent the whole day on the beach. You got sunburned and every inch of your skin tasted of salt, but I couldn’t help kissing you. I remember... The ahjumma who hosted us at her home told us to buy some tangerines and they were so good and sweet that we couldn't stop eating them, so our hands were always sticky. Was it two years ago? I think so. Anyway, I finished filming that one drama. I know you probably don’t even remember it, though. I mean, you have every right to forget things that don’t matter anymore._

Somewhere along the way, Seungyoun learns how to accept the brutality of his own heart and no longer imagines tearing it out. He used to dream about his hands being covered in blood, but now it’s just melted gold, hot enough to burn his palms. 

It’s been a long time since he last allowed himself to long for someone who isn’t Yibo. He feels strange staring at Hangyul’s thick thighs instead of Yibo’s thin but muscular ones and thinking of kissing them. Or noticing how broad Hangyul’s shoulders are despite his height, and wondering if they’re as warm and inviting as they look.

Or realizing that the smile that was once carved into his memory has been replaced by a more toothy one, belonging to someone who’s always beside him, within the reach of his fingertips.

“Who’s on shopping duty this week?” Kookheon asks, hands on his hips. It reminds Seungyoun of their landlady and he barely avoids choking on his coffee.

“There’s a shopping duty?” Jinhyuk answers the question with a question, surprise written all over his face.

“Yes, just like there’s a cleaning duty, but judging by the state of our bathroom when you’re on it, you haven’t heard of this one either,” Hangyul snarks.

“Language? You’re three years younger than me, mister.” 

As it turns out, Jinhyuk is the one on shopping duty, but Seungyoun, Hangyul, and Kookheon are the ones who set off to the store.

There’s a feeling of familiarity to shopping for food with people you’ve grown to adore over months of living together, Seungyoun realizes as they walk through the aisles of their local convenience store. He watches Kookheon pick up the necessities and decides to leave him to his own devices, joining Hangyul in choosing snacks instead.

He looks at two purple colored bags of chips in Hangyul’s hand and says, “Never expected you to be a fan of sweet potato flavor.” 

Hangyul lets out a cackle, “You don’t like them, hyung?”

“Not really.”

“They’re the best, especially when you drink banana milk right after eating,” he says. Seungyoun can see Kookheon slowly approaching them. “You should try it.”

Seungyoun isn’t sure when Hangyul became the epitome of cuteness.

4:30 pm, You have [1] new voicemail.

_I’m going to run out of things to say soon. I guess I just wanted to tell you that I miss you. In my thoughts, I still call you mine. But then I realize that you aren’t, and I’m not yours, so it feels like an empty promise. I wish my edges weren’t sharp enough to cut skin. I’m sorry about this bloody mess._

Sometimes, Seungyoun dreams about Hangyul moaning and repeating his name like a prayer. The dream feels real, so real that Seungyoun usually wakes up breathless, gasping for air, engulfed by the darkness of his room.

But one night, he wakes up to sounds coming from the other side of the thin wall, and he’s sure it’s not a dream anymore when he hears Hangyul try to muffle a moan. He can make out his name falling from Hangyul’s lips, the two syllables almost right next to his ear like two loaded pistols.

He doesn’t fall back asleep, the knot in his stomach too tight to even let him think of trying to; so he does the only thing that makes sense; brings his fingers to his already half-hard cock, groans from the other side of the wall bringing his to the edge faster than he’d like them to, and spends the rest of the night tossing and turning in his bed. 

On the cusp of spring and summer, Jinhyuk finally manages to save up enough money to move out their hasukjib and rent his own flat in the western part of Seoul. He throws a party of sorts, inviting everyone in their circle of friends to come over for a few drinks.

There are two things Seungyoun learns that night:

  1. Apparently, Yohan has finally confessed to Seoungwoo. The realization comes to him as he watches them whisper into each other’s ears and laugh at something others probably wouldn’t understand even if they could hear. Yohan’s cheeks are painted rosy red from either alcohol or Seungwoo’s words. Looking at them, shoulders brushing and hands touching, makes Seungyoun realize it’s probably the latter.



  1. Hangyul is a lightweight, and two glasses of soju in, he’s already a mess of giggles and slurred syllables. Seungyoun blames this one on Jinhyuk, who seems to be trying to gain the title of best host ever and keeps filling empty glasses scattered around the room with more soju. 



Seungyoun spends most of the night sitting next to Hangyul on Jinhyuk’s fancy leather sofa and engaging in a conversation with whoever approaches them to share a drink. Usually, it’s Wooseok, bored and too sober for his own good, eyes trained on Jinhyuk who’s too busy greeting everyone to join them.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Seungyoun says when Wooseok leaves to talk to new guests, and he slides his hand over Hangyul’s, intertwining their fingers, already guiding him to the door. Hangyul waves goodbye to someone Seungyoun doesn’t recognize, and makes a _shush_ sound when the stranger winks at him.

They end up on the rooftop of Jinhyuk’s apartment building. Even though it’s not high enough to overlook the city, the view is calming, and no words are exchanged as they watch the street, busy and crowded despite the late hour.

“Want one?” Seungyoun offers, as he takes out a cigarette and lights it. 

Hangyul just shakes his head _no_ in response.

“That’s fair,” Seungyoun says, exhaling the smoke. “Better for your health.”

He doesn’t know what to make out of Hangyul’s silence and can’t think of anything to talk about as they sit there, Hangyul slowly sobering up and Seungyoun getting dizzier and dizzier from his spinning thoughts. 

He focuses on the sounds coming from the street; a car speeding down the main road nearby, a group of girls laughing at some joke, police sirens somewhere far away.

“Hyung, do you think it could work?” Hangyul asks suddenly, raising his head and looking up. There’s not a single star visible in the sky, and Seungyoun knows it because he’s spent his entire life in this city, so Hangyul is probably just trying to avoid his stare.

“You mean, us?” 

Hangyul nods.

The smoke is burning Seungyoun’s lungs and his throat. Someone laughs. It sounds like Jinhyuk, but he’s not sure. 

He bites his lips hard enough to taste the blood.

“Yeah,” he says finally, glancing at Hangyul. He feels weirdly out of place, and the sounds of the city are soon drowned out by the thumping of his heart in his ears. “I want it to.”

Silence falls again. Seungyoun wonders if Hangyul’s heart is beating as fast as his own, wants to press his ear against Hangyul’s chest just to check.

In the end, he doesn’t. Instead, he puts out his cigarette and gets up, saying, “Let’s head back, yeah?”

The next day, Seungyoun picks up his old phone from the service center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jinhyuk: [chaotic gemini noises]  
> I HAVE NO IDEA where yibo resides now so i chose shanghai bc.... reasons... but feel free to correct me?  
> 
> 
> thank youuu @ nix @ wen for cheering me on T____T <3


	3. incorporation

Seungyoun’s flight is delayed.

They say there’s a typhoon coming, and the entire airport is filled with people whose flights were either cancelled or delayed, just like his. It’s a cacophony of noises; announcements in robotic voice mixed with irritated sighs from across the hall. He hasn’t passed the customs yet, as per the request of airport staff, so he grabs his luggage and walks out the terminal to smoke.

Dark clouds are looming over the airport, drowning everything in gloomy light as if the thunder could roll in any minute now. It’s forecast to start in an hour; that’s what Seungyoun remembers hearing on the news. Seoul Metropolitan Government has sent out emergency alerts onto the phones of people in the area, so this one is probably going to be big. 

He lights his cigarette and observes people in the smoking zone, talking on their phones in hushed and irritated voices. It looks like a scene out of an apocalypse movie, of sorts. Someone is crying, too; Seungyoun looks around to find a small girl, clearly afraid of the storm that’s about to come. He watches her father try to calm her down, telling her that typhoons are quite common in this part of the world, and nothing ever happens. 

It’s funny, really; out of all days possible, today had to be the one to bring a storm heavy enough to stop him from boarding the plane he’s been dreading buying tickets for. Maybe it’s a sign, he thinks as he inhales the smoke of his cigarette; maybe it’s the sky telling him not to go to Shanghai. 

Eventually, three hours later, the airport staff announces that the typhoon has bypassed the Korean Peninsula and is on its way to Japan now. Seungyoun’s heart isn’t any lighter as he responds to the greeting of a flight attendant with a fake smile of his own.

It takes only two hours to get from Seoul to Shanghai, and he’s not even that hungry, but he doesn’t think twice before buying a muffin and duty free alcohol on the plane. This one time, he can afford to treat himself.

It’s his birthday, after all.

Shanghai welcomes him with a drizzle and bright lights of Pudong Airport. Clearing the customs is a pain in the neck, and he keeps yawning while waiting for his luggage to come out on the belt. He feels out of place in the sea of people who arrived with him, not recognizing any of their faces, as if he’s spent the past two hours on a different flight.

It’s barely noon, but the drowsiness doesn’t leave him as he rides the cab from the airport to the hotel he’s booked a room in the night before. The driver seems happy to finally have someone he can have a conversation with, and Seungyoun decides it’s probably because his clients are usually foreigners. Seungyoun is a foreigner, too, but he goes out of his way to talk to him, and smiles when the driver tells him stories of his family.

Turns out that his Mandarin isn’t as broken as he thought it was.

  


The first he does when he arrives in his hotel room is taking off his shirt, already wet from rain, and changing into a new one.

Then he texts Yibo, trying to ignore the pang in his chest as he looks at the nickname he’s saved his number with, so many months ago.

You:

_I’m here._

왕♡자님:

_Meet me in front of the restaurant._

  


It’s awkward, no matter how much Seungyoun wants to pretend that it isn’t.

Yibo looks like he’s been caught in the storm too, even though his clothes are completely dry. His hair is curly and messy; something Seungyoun would only see in the mornings, waking up to Yibo’s face bathed in sunlight coming through the curtains. It’s unsettling, seeing him like this now, in circumstances so different than before.

“Happy birthday,” Yibo says with a shy smile on his face, handing him a carefully wrapped box. Seungyoun absentmindedly realizes that the earrings he’s wearing are the ones Seungyoun gave him last year.

“Oh,” he says, accepting the gift. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Well, it’s our tradition, isn’t it?”

The gift turns out to be a music production software he’s been trying to get hands on for a few months now, and he thinks he’s probably mentioned wanting to get it once or twice. A sense of embarrassment washes over him, since the only things he’s brought with him are a bracelet from jewelry brand he knows Yibo likes, and his favorite Korean snacks.

“Happy birthday to you, too,” he says, hoping that the smile looks as sincere as he is.

Yibo looks at him for a second, searching for something in Seungyoun’s eyes, and extends his arm over the table to take the box from his hands. Seungyoun tries to look away, to not pay attention to Yibo’s trembling hands, tries to forget the hours he’s spent holding them in his.

It’s silent for a while as they decide on what to order. Seungyoun decides it’s not how he’s imagined to spend his twenty third birthday; Yibo probably didn’t expect to spend it sitting in a hotel restaurant with his ex, either, but life has a way of taking twists and turns when you least want it to. 

“I didn’t think it’d be this awkward,” Seungyoun admits in the end, because this is Yibo; this is the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, knows what to do to make Seungyoun laugh and to make him cry, too. And maybe he should do either of those, or just laugh through his tears, but the smile Yibo gives him reminds him of a calm sea and Seungyoun finds himself enjoying the tranquility of it. 

“I did,” Yibo just says, rests his cheek in the palm of his hand as he says it. “Expect it, I mean. But it’s fine. I enjoy sitting in silence with you, hyung, even if it’s a little uncomfortable.”

It’s been more than two years since Yibo last called him that, Seungyoun notices, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

The waiter serves them their food, two plates of pasta in a creamy sauce; Seungyoun thinks it’s Italian, or maybe French. He’s never been good at telling western cuisines apart. The restaurant is silent and mostly empty, save for an elderly couple across the room.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he says, voice quiet. Someone turns on the music, a classical piece Seungyoun doesn’t recognize.

Yibo just shrugs, staring at the plate in front of him to avoid his gaze; Seungyoun doesn’t pick up his fork either, feeling too tense to actually eat.

“The voicemails―,” he opens his mouth to say, but Yibo raises his head then, taking a sharp inhale.

“Wait. Let me talk.” 

Seungyoun does.

“I’m sorry about the voicemails,” Yibo says, closing his eyes as if he needed it to focus on what he means to say. When he opens them, the expression on his face changes, and he seems more brave, more courageous. “I shouldn’t have tried to call you. I’m sorry about everything, too. I didn’t want things to end like that.”

Seungyoun sits there wordlessly, thoughts too tangled to choose any of them to voice out.

“It’s just,” he begins, then stops, staring at his empty hands. “At some point, I started feeling like you weren’t there anymore. We could be talking on the phone, or spending time together, but your thoughts were somewhere else. It might have been my imagination, but―”

“No, you’re right,” Seungyoun cuts in, and for some reason, his mind decides to flash the memory of Hangyul, smiling, laughing, talking on the phone with his mom, petting a stray cat on their way home one day. One more time, he realizes Yibo really knows him better than anyone. 

Yibo hums, deep in thought. “I just wanted to save myself from the pain. I mean, we always knew it wouldn’t last forever, didn’t we? That’s what you told me one night, not long after it started.”

 _That’s not how I meant it_ , Seungyoun wants to say, to grab Yibo’s hand and make him believe through his actions since words fail him. Instead, he smiles at him weakly, because it doesn’t matter anymore, because he’s said it out loud then, and nothing could erase it from Yibo’s mind at this point.

The waiter approaches them to ask if there’s something wrong with their food, offers to serve something else; the perks of staying at a fancy hotel. Yibo just smiles politely, telling her it’s fine, trying to make her leave them alone as soon as possible.

“I don’t even know what to say anymore,” Seungyoun admits.

Yibo nods. “We both fucked up, that’s what it is.”

And maybe Seungyoun should be surprised by Yibo cursing, but it’s what makes him realize that this Yibo, in front of him months after the break up, isn’t his anymore, and he has no right to decide what’s right or wrong.

Nothing in the world could change the fact that they’re soulmates, bound by fate, born on the same day, but sometimes soulmates are meant to ruin each other, and Seungyoun accepts it with a heavy heart. 

  


Nanjing Road is a mess of bright neon lights and people walking in every direction, but for once, Seungyoun doesn’t mind being lost in a crowd of people speaking in a language that’s not his own, because Yibo is right there, guiding him without holding his hand.

It doesn’t take them long to reach the Bund; would probably take way less if it wasn’t for Seungyoun’s sudden craving for matcha latte that made them stop by Starbucks on the way. Yibo laughs at him, the way he always would, except this time the sound is muffled by the mask he’s wearing to avoid getting recognized on the street.

“You really are famous now,” Seungyoun remarks, paying for both of them. He remembers seeing his face on the cover of some magazine, the image doing rounds on Weibo a few weeks ago, but he never expected him to be this popular.

“I don’t really enjoy it that much, to be honest,” Yibo just shrugs, avoiding eye contact with the barista who takes their orders.

“Understandable.” A moment of silence. “I mean, I know you a little, still.”

“You still know me the best, hyung.”

Seungyoun has nothing to say to that, so he just watches the barista prepare their drinks until his name is called, and then they’re on their way again. 

“Shanghai is still as beautiful as I remember it being,” he says. “I didn’t realize how much I missed the view.” 

They sit down on a bench overlooking the Huangpu River and Lujiazui, bright lights of skyscrapers, financial centres and the Oriental Pearl Tower against the dark night sky. The rain hasn’t stopped, but it’s fine, because the drizzle makes it even more stunning. There are some new buildings Seungyoun’s doesn’t remember seeing, and he’s reminded how different Shanghai is from Seoul, despite the similarities. 

“We missed you too,” Yibo replies, eyes trained on the sight in front of them. The lights reflect on his face, colors changing quickly as if they were in a kaleidoscope. “Especially Yixuan ge and Wenhan ge. You really need to pay both of them a visit soon.”

Seungyoun’s heart starts swelling with feelings he doesn’t know how to let out, so he tries to hide the tear that starts rolling down his cheek from Yibo and says, voice quiet and level, “I will. I promise I will.”

The first person Seungyoun sees once he walks out the arrivals hall is Hangyul, standing near the exit with hands in the pockets of his raincoat. For someone whose frame is so broad, he looks surprisingly small, as if the past days were enough to make him shrink into himself.

“Gyul-ah,” Seungyoun calls out from a few meters away, and it makes Hangyul stop fidgeting on his feet. His face breaks out into a shy smile, as if he didn’t expect Seungyoun to notice him.

(What Hangyul doesn’t know is that Seungyoun would notice him everywhere, in every city, in every possible setting.)

“Hyung,” he says with a smile, helping Seungyoun with his suitcase when they’re finally standing next to each other. “You’re finally back.”

Other passengers keep rushing, walking past the two of them with phones in their hands, but for Seungyoun, they could the only people in the world.

“I wasn’t even away for that long.”

“It was a long time to me,” Hangyul says as they walk out of the airport, taking their time to avoid the crowd on the train back to Seoul. “Welcome home, hyung.”

  


They get off the train at Hongik University Station, and start walking in the direction of their hasukjib as if on auto-pilot. They both know the way by heart, every twist and turn already imprinted on their minds, and Seungyoun doesn’t look to check if Hangyul is following, because he knows he is.

Despite the typhoon not reaching the Korean Peninsula, Seoul is still drowning in gloominess. The rain still hasn’t stopped, either; Hangyul just nods when Seungyoun asks him if it’s been raining for the past few days. Seungyoun doesn’t remember the last time summer was this rainy, but there’s a time for everything; storms are bound to come after weeks of sunlight, the same way humans can’t keep smiling throughout their whole lives.

They walk in silence; Hangyul with his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down to avoid the raindrops and Seungyoun, occupied by trying not to stumble with his suitcase. He’s focused on trying to avoid a hole in the sidewalk when Hangyul suddenly stops.

“Hyung, wait,” he says, raising his voice a little to make sure Seungyoun hears in the sea of sounds around them. A car passes by them, barely avoiding the puddle on the road.

Seungyoun stops, turns around, and the shadows on Hangyul’s face make his heart lurch into his throat.

“I need to tell you something.”

Seungyoun nods, waiting. Hangyul clears his throat, and says, “I think I’m in love with you, hyung.” 

There are many things Seungyoun feels in that moment; cold drops on his face, the wind chilling him to the bone, but, above all, a dull ache in his heart as Hangyul moves closer, staring at him like he could become one with the rain any minute, expecting rejection.

But the answer is obvious, has been for a long time, despite how much Seungyoun refused to admit it for weeks. “I think I’m in love with you too,” he says, not thinking twice about his answer, because he’s sure, because the feeling in his heart has been growing and growing for a long time now, and it’s too big to hide at this point.

The smile Hangyul gives him is like a ray of sunlight after weeks of being surrounded by the clouds, but the sky doesn’t clear as he puts his hand of Seungyoun’s cheek and, with his typical cheekiness written all over his face, whispers, “Want to make sure?”

Seungyoun laughs, but doesn’t answer; instead, he puts his lips on Hangyul’s, grips his hips to keep him close and steady as the rain continues to wash over them. 

  
  
  


As it turns out, the end of August is as rainy as the beginning, but Seungyoun doesn’t mind, because it gives him an excuse to spend days in bed with Hangyul’s face next to him on the pillow.

“Are we staying in today too?” he hears him ask and feels a kiss being planted on his shoulder blade, senses overwhelmed by Hangyul’s presence. 

He smiles into the pillow and sighs as Hangyul continues kissing his skin, all the way up to his neck. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all, hyung,” Hangyul says, smiling against Seungyoun’s skin. “It means I get to kiss you like this.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry?
> 
> come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/noctvne) ♡


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